Born to Kill
by Badge of Honour
Summary: Cato Hale has been training for his victory in the arena for his entire life. When he finds himself as District 2's male tribute for the 74th annual Hunger Games, it should be the easiest thing in the world for him, right? If only life was that simple.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - So, hello there! This is my first Hunger Games fic and it came about from Cato just getting stuck in my head. I blame Alexander's adorableness and his portrayal. Any rates/reviews would be much appreciated! I know the name isn't very original but I couldn't think of anything better at the time. Well, on to the fic. Note that there will be mostly friendshipping and maybe a _tiny_bit of Glimmer/Cato in here. Creative licenses have taken for some things, however for now this will mostly follow canon.

Well, on to the story!

* * *

"Hey," I say as I toss my shoulder bag on the floor. My mother gives me a stern look, but her blue eyes quickly soften. She's weak.

"If you could take that to your room, it would be much obliged." She tells me, gesturing to my bag. "Your reaping clothes are on your bed." I grunt in affirmation, pick up my gym bag and make my way upstairs before she says anything else pathetic.

* * *

My room isn't too decorated; there's a small, worn wooden desk and chair in the corner, a punching bag hanging by my bed and a few notes stuck to the walls. Every District 2 victor to date has their own poster with notes on their arenas, kill counts and fighting styles. I made them when I was eight and have been updating them ever since, although I've only had to add one since then; a guy called Caius won his Games when I was ten. Leaning my gym bag against my desk, I decide to go to the bathroom to clean up for today. I've got to look good for the cameras, after all.

I try and recount the previous seven years while I'm in the shower. District 1 has had three victors since then, in the 71st and 72nd Hunger Games, the siblings Cashmere and Gloss De Montfort won back to back and got catapulted into stardom, and before them Ermine Trim manipulated her pack into doing all the dirty work and getting themselves killed in the 67th Games. District 4 has had one, Annie Cresta, victor of the 70th Games. Everyone thought that she had lost her mind in the arena, but the Capitol later revealed that she had long-standing mental issues since she was a kid. Johanna Mason from District 7 surprised pretty much everyone by winning the 68th Games at age fifteen through deceit and the others were pretty unremarkable, I recall, but again won by non-elite districts. The point is, District 2 needs a victor. District 2 needs me. Our honor depends on it.

It's not like I will be unprepared for the arena. For the past eight years I've been taking part in a brutal training regimen focused on building speed, strength, endurance and the necessary fighting skills to win the annual televised fight to the death. Having turned eighteen a month ago, this year is my last chance to assure fame and glory for the warriors of District 2.

Drying myself off with a towel, I know that no one will be surprised when I volunteer as tribute to take the place of whoever gets picked instead. In fact, people will be expecting it. I've been the top of my class at the Gladiator's Institute for the past four years. I am signed up for tesserae, so my name is already in there eighteen times - once for each member of my family. Even so, the odds aren't exactly in my favor. Pretty much everyone I know is signed up for tesserae. Not that it matters, I remind myself.

Back in my bedroom, my eyes quickly spot my clothes. A white shirt, and matching pants. Polished shoes. Shrugging into the snug fitting top, I suppose I'll make a good impression.

Once I'm dressed and ready, I go back downstairs, where my mother's sat on the sofa reading today's Panem Express.

"See you soon," I tell her, knowing that each tribute gets an hour to spend with their friends and family to say their goodbyes. I don't wait to hear her response before walking out the front door.

* * *

The walk to the District's town square isn't a very long one, I just keep in the shadow of the Nut, a large mountainous base for the Peacekeepers, the force of justice and protection of Panem. Of course, officially the military and weapons development is not District 2's prime industry, instead we're referred to as being responsible for masonry and the trades. Even so, many of the Peacekeepers in Panem are recruited from District 2, my father among them, as a symbol of our unwavering loyalty and dedication to the Capitol, being among the first to defect during the rebellion seventy five years ago. I hate taking orders, and I was never going to spend the rest of my life in a cave, so naturally being a victor in the Hunger Games was the perfect career prospect for me.

Joining the growing queues for our registration for the reaping, when the tributes of this year's Hunger Games are revealed, I find myself shaking in anticipation. When it's my turn to be registered, I don't feel the small cut on my skin, I'm unaware of the smear of blood on the form.

Standing in the square, I notice the mentors for this year are already sat on stage. Lyme, who won the 47th Games, and Brutus, who won the 52nd. Despite both being in their 40s, they have both clearly been taking care of themselves. I recall Brutus' technique with a sword fondly, having altered a few of his moves and weaving them into my own sword fighting.

I cross my arms and wait as the town square fills quickly, everyone having a look of wild eagerness about them. Nobody worries, unlike in the outer districts, where there's always sniveling kids and wailing mothers. You'd think they would have learned by now that training is the safest way to assure your safety from the Capitol. Idiots, the lot of them, I think to myself, a smirk creeping up the side of my mouth as District 2's escort takes the stage.

Tasia Blitz smiles as she struts towards the podium at the center of the elevated stage, managing not to trip on her ridiculously high heels this year, unfortunately, her green curls bouncing with every step. Tasia was an extremely lucky escort, only six years into her career and already in one of the more prosperous districts. She started out in District 7 the year Johanna Mason became a victor, and was instantly promoted.

"Welcome, everybody," she begins, her voice curdling my stomach like oversweet honey. "and happy Hunger Games! Hasn't this year just gone by so fast?"

Silence. While District 2 respects the Capitol's power and authority, we are just as fascinated by their strange culture as everyone else in Panem.

"I know, I know, it's wonderful to be back in sunny District 2!" she grins like a Cheshire cat. It's cloudy.

Clearing her throat, she continues. "So, the time has come once more to select one brave young man and woman for the honor of representing District 2 in the 74th annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

I suppress the urge to cover my face with a palm, she's missed the video out. Every year on reaping day, the Districts are reminded why the legacy of the Hunger Games continues, and showcases the eternal might of Panem. How we survived when the rest of the world died around us.

Tasia clears her throat and pouts, one hand on her hidden earpiece. "But first, it's time for my favorite history lesson!" she corrects herself. There are a couple of stifled laughs behind me, but I stay still as a statue.

The old video plays behind her, in color and high quality, unlike in the outlying districts, I recall from previous reaping recaps. It explains how nuclear war obliterated the human populace, rendering most of the world uninhabitable. It shows floods, earthquakes, all sorts of natural disasters. And then, Panem rises. Resolute in the face of adversity, humanity survives. The collective districts are created and separated to avoid another such war, and all is well.

Until the Dark Days, of course. Thirteen districts rise against the Capitol in rebellion, twelve survive. The Hunger Games serves as an ongoing chance for repentance for the district's sins, showing the Capitol's mercy and generosity. Victors return heroes, having earned supplies and glory for their district. It is a time of sacrifice and celebration. The video fades out.

"Isn't it just so fascinating?" Tasia's voice snaps me back to reality. "You know, it's always such a droll affair having the same routine," she says melodramatically. "I say we change things up a bit." her overdone eyes wink conspiratorially. I feel a knot form in my stomach, wondering what exactly she has up her tailored sleeve.

"Gentlemen first!" she practically squeals, as though she is saying something ground-breakingly revolutionary. I roll my eyes in exasperation, but nevertheless I can feel my pulse quickening. The moment I have been waiting for my entire life is within reach, and it's like I'm twelve years old all over again.

Strutting to a large glass dome full to the brim with small paper slips, she rummages wildly, several slips spilling out over the top. After a random selection, her long green nails, painted like a peacock's tail, pincer a small slip in her hands. My palms sweat, I feel pumped past the point of nausea.

It's now or never, I think as she unfolds the slip, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "Nero Ga-"

"I volunteer as tribute!" my voice booms as I interrupt the escort. Those standing around me stand back, clearing a path to the stage, respect and admiration etched on their faces. I recognize a couple of kids from my class at the Institute, but that's inconsequential.

"Of course, a reaping would be incomplete without a volunteer, wouldn't it?" Tasia smiles again, her almost hidden eyes glint from behind a wall of aqua make up. I argue with myself over if she's intelligent enough to be being sarcastic or was just genuine. It's hard to tell.

"So, what's your name?" Tasia Blitz asks me, bringing me back to reality.

"Cato. Cato Hale."

"Oh, Cato, how marvelous this must be for you," she says. "I'm sure you have been waiting for this day for a long, long time!"

"Yes," I reply flatly. Otherwise I wouldn't have volunteered, I leave unsaid. There are a few smirks from the crowd at me. I know I have to make sure not to insult the Capitol's intelligence if I want sponsors in the arena, which I know I'll need to keep me alive. Tasia seems to sense my lack of conversational skills, and clears her throat.

"Well, on to the ladies!" Tasia Blitz says, her voice perking up in anticipation. I see her repeat the method she used when reaping the boys, her lips pursing before she reads the slip.

"Clove Farren," she calls out.

I vaguely recognize the name, but I'm unsure of where the familiarity stems from. I know it's nobody in my year, at least. Scanning the crowd, I lock eyes with her as she emerges from a sea of faces. She looks a couple of years younger than me and she's definitely much shorter. Her dark brown hair is tied back in a ponytail and she's wearing a horribly cheery sunflower yellow dress. Her brown eyes are hard, determined, and she saunders on stage with more certainty than I would have thought her capable of. Probably more arrogance than even I had managed.

I barely register Tasia asking if there are any volunteers and there's a momentary ripple of movement, then nothing. That's unusual. Usually in our district, a trained career tribute would volunteer at age eighteen to take the place of a much younger tribute.

"Well, there we have it," Tasia's voice betrays her own surprise. "District 2, your tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games: Cato Hale and Clove Farren. And may the odds be ever in their favor!"

We move to shake hands as the crowd breaks into applause. Clove's grip is firm and unyielding. She's definitely got something to be confident about, and I'm determined to find out what.


	2. Chapter 2

To her credit and my surprise, my mother doesn't cry. The door opens, I stand, and she rushes to embrace me, her arms trying to cling on to as much of me as she can, as though she's trying to fight against the irresistible pull of the Capitol. My arms wrap around her, and she's not shaking. It seems I underestimated my mother's fortitude.

We just stand there for what seems like an eternity, before her hold on me finally desists, and we sit on a small, plushy leather couch, my mother's hands folded over my own. I notice that they're calloused and firm. More well-worn than I remembered from when I was younger.

"Come on, I'll be fine," I try and reassure her. I am not sure why, exactly. My mother nods.

"If only your father were here, he will be so proud of you," she begins, smiling. My father is currently stationed in District 11, helping keep order in what is definitely one of the more dangerous and unruly districts.

"I know," I say. My father was meant to volunteer for the 48th Hunger Games, but his younger brother beat him to the punch. My uncle ended up in third place when he was choked to death by a District 12 girl, believe it or not. I forget her name. Of course, she never won. District 12 has had a grand total of two victors in the history of the Hunger Games, only one of whom is still living; Haymitch Abernathy, the Capitol's resident drunk and a laughing stock in District 2 and pretty much all of Panem.

My mother tells me what I already know - that I can win, and she begins by pointing out my skills, my strengths. What I need to do to become popular enough to survive - everything I've already heard before. I'm unsure of if she is trying to reassure me or herself that the odds are entirely in my favor, but nevertheless I'm grateful for it. After a few moments, a Peacekeeper I do not recognize comes in to lead my mother away. Her arms wrap around me again, and she whispers in my ear.

"Be brave. Stay strong."

My mind is still mulling over what exactly she means after the door has slammed shut and my mother is gone. Of course I'll be brave - I have never been frightened of anything in my life. Stay strong? I'm the strongest in our District, and she knows it. The league tables prove that. Does she think that I'm going to break in the arena? No chance. I've been prepared for this my entire life. I will not be the next Annie Cresta. I got tested.

A few moments later, the unfamiliar Peacekeeper returns. He escorts me out of the office I had occupied, and guides me through a large marble hallway. I recognize the towering archway from when I visited my father once, we're in one of the military Control Centers - the only outside of Capitol territory, I recall. Walking in the opposite direction, I see a dark haired couple that can only be Clove's parents. I avert my gaze before I can get a closer look, I don't want to picture their faces when I return with Clove's casket at my side.

* * *

We leave the Control Center and make our way round to the railway station, where there are a few cameramen and reporters, held back by a barrier. I grin and wave at them as the cameras flash and they babble incoherently. My eyes turn to the shimmering masterpiece I will be travelling in, and I'm not disappointed. I'll give the Capitol credit where it's due, they know how to make sure we arrive in style.

Boarding the train, I see that I am the last to arrive. Tasia Blitz is drinking something pink and sparkling out of a fancy looking bottle, sat down on a large table. Lyme and Brutus are conversing easily, glasses of the rose fizzing stuff in their hands too. Clove is sat on a velvet couch, watching the television screen eagerly. I've just missed District 7, I observe as the train rolls out of the station. Not that it matters, Capitol TV will be airing reaping footage all night, probably.

Taking notice of me for the first time, Tasia Blitz' cartoonish lips part in an imp-like grin. "Cato, so glad you could join us. Champagne, dear?" she asks, gesturing with a now gloved hand to the bottle of champ-pain, or whatever she had called it.

I shrug, and she pours me a glass.

"So what can you do, boy?" Brutus asks, turning from Lyme to me. I swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat, and cough before answering. It wouldn't do to embarrass myself in front of my mentors on day one.

"I broke the melee record at Gladiator's before winter break," I say. At the end of every term, the Gladiator's Institute would host a violent free for all pitched battle, and the last one standing was the victor. It was basically the earlier stages of the Hunger Games - before hunger and thirst became more pressing concerns. The trainers would count the amount of opponents the winner had taken out themself, and the previous record, set by Enobaria some years before, was seventeen. "Twenty two out of fifty."

Brutus nods at me, and Lyme raises her eyebrows appreciatively.

"That will definitely be to your advantage in the bloodbath," Brutus says with a nod,sipping his champagne. As if on cue, Tasia Blitz hands me my glass. I stare at it warily for a second, and then gulp it down. It's not entirely pleasant, but I don't reject a top up, even if Tasia is staring daggers at me; for all I know, I could have just broken some huge Capitol taboo.

"You drink it _slowly_, Cato," she says through pursed lips, trying and failing to be reproachful.

Clove flicks over to a different channel, and clears her throat.

"If you don't mind, I think we should watch the reapings. Get a first look at our competitors." Clove says sweetly, but there's no denying the iron behind her words. We comply, and I sit next to her. There's no harm in being friendly - it's extremely likely that she and I will be partnered in the arena, at least for a little while.

Lyme takes a platter of all sorts of snacks and brings it over to where Clove and I are watching the District 1 reaping. The male tribute is a volunteer, like me, name of Marvel. He looks strong, but has a more wiry build than I do. Short brown hair, cocky grin, he's clearly confident about his odds. Then it's the turn of the girls, and a girl called Glimmer is called.

"What is it with those stupid names in One anyway?" Clove remarks, airing my thoughts too. Tasia glances at her coldly, and then returns to her usual bimbo phase. I grab some bread smeared with grey paste, and am surprised by its taste. We don't get bread very often in District 2. Our diet is mainly made up of potatoes.

Glimmer is pretty, I see as the camera zooms in, with long blonde hair, full red lips and bright green eyes. She's got a very womanly body, so I think I know where she'll be getting most of her sponsors from. Overall, while the tributes from District One are good, they leave enough to be desired.

Then the camera cuts to District Two, and I am pleasantly surprised with how I come across on screen. Eager, ready to go, but not overconfident. Then Clove gets reaped and blows me out of the water. I see her smiling next to me, appreciating her apparent ease, as though she is above such petty things. I grind my teeth.

The tributes from the overbearingly industrial District Three look like the generic crop, really. Thin, ashen haired, but methodical in their movements. Hardly memorable. Cut to District Four, with waves crashing in the background. Mine and Clove's interest pique, knowing that these are also likely to be our allies. I am disappointed by the boy, a curly haired kid that can't be much older than Clove. The girl seems alright though, tall, medium length auburn hair, athletic build.

After that, my interest wanes. Districts Five, Six and Seven whir by rather unremarkably. The girl from Eight looks like she's built to run, so I make a mental note of her. The next tribute that stands out is a cripple from Ten. Well, he's not a cripple, but he has a lame foot. Easy prey, really.

Cut to Eleven. The girl is tiny, maybe just over four and a half foot, and so fragile that she looks like you could blow her away. She'll be dead by day one, guaranteed. Cut to the boys, a kid called "Thresh" who is probably taller than me, looking just shy of six and a half feet. He's dark skinned, muscular, and completely stoic. I make a note of him too, he could be dangerous.

Then comes District Twelve. A little blonde kid gets reaped for the girls, but then some girl shrieks that she volunteers, to everyone's surprise. It even snaps Tasia Blitz out of her daze, and she says something she thinks is witty about a volunteer in District Twelve. No one laughs.

The girl's got olive skin, dark hair, grey eyes. Medium height, and well-developed for her small frame. Her passion in volunteering is completely undermined by her lack of enthusiasm on stage, but the fact she volunteered in her District speaks volumes, really. I make note of her, too. Memorable.

The boy from Twelve looks a little like me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders and strong frame. He's a bit shorter, so he may be younger. Not that it matters. He has a certain charisma and presence, even when he's not speaking, and again I take note of him - don't want him overshadowing me in the interviews. Pita, I think the escort called him.

Cut to Claudius Templesmith, the presenter of the Hunger Games' live coverage, and Caesar Flickerman, the host of all interviews pre and post Games. He's also co-presenter of the live coverage. We decide to turn off the television, there's no need to hear their melodramatic commentary just yet.

We all transfer to a long wooden table, where dishes upon dishes of food have been layered. I didn't even notice it arriving, perplexingly. I drink another glass of the pink champagne, and am beginning to enjoy it a little more. My head feels like it does after a couple of beers, a little woozy, so I decide to slow down a little. We don't drink much back home, but for special occasions there are always a few bottles of cider or lager for everyone.

I grab what's closest to me and begin piling pasta on my plate while Clove and Lyme discuss the merits of using daggers as projectile weapons. As Clove animatedly gestures to where her knives usually land, I decide to try and avoid a confrontation with her in the arena for as long as possible.

"I do so love these trains, don't you?" Tasia Blitz asks me, pouring herself another glass of champagne. "You hardly feel a thing traveling at this speed."

I grunt in reply. It might be a little rude, but I'm really not in the mood for small talk with anyone at the moment. I've got plenty of information to process tonight, about my allies and adversaries.

The food never stops flowing; one dish will be emptied and replaced with another right away. I develop a taste for something sweet, battered and coated in a red sauce with pineapples, peppers and onions, and eat three courses of that. The champagne dries up and is replaced by a colorless spirit. Before long, Tasia Blitz is standing on a chair and singing the Panem national anthem at the top of her lungs, a rather painful experience.

Brutus steps in, dragging her along to her compartment before she does any lasting damage, and I cover my face with my palm. Priceless.

"You've been very quiet, Cato," Lyme says, sensibly drinking a glass of water. Clove also turns to me.

I shrug.

"You're not helping me frame a good profile to pitch to sponsors, are you?" she says, raising an eyebrow. I furrow my brow and sigh. "I thought you wanted this, hence why you volunteered so hastily."

"I do," I say through gritted teeth. I don't need a has-been like _her_ lecturing _me_.

"So help me help yourself, boy."

I am unsure of if she is trying to antagonize me, but I don't bite. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Anything that Brutus and I can work with," she replies simply, sipping her water and plucking at some chocolate dipped strawberries. "Your training would be a good start, I suppose."

I nod. "Well, you know about the melee. You also probably know my ranking in the league tables," Lyme confirms this with a nod, "and I'm good with swords, spears, axes and clubs. Archery, not so much."

"How good?" Lyme enquires.

"Good enough to stake my life on it," I say. Her eyes glitter and she smiles slightly.

"I've seen him break a kid's neck," Clove says. I don't know why she decides to involve herself in my conversation, but a part of me is glad that she does. Of course, I have never _actually_ broke another person's neck, but on the realistic dummies we use I've done it a few times.

"Cato's really strong. I've seen it. And pretty fast, too, but probably not as quick as me," she continues.

Lyme nods to herself, and she excuses us both to leave as Brutus returns, his shirt dishevelled and his face red. I decide not to ask.

My bedroom and Clove's are next door to one another, and I rest an arm against the wall before we reach her compartment.

"So, are you up for an alliance?" I ask her. Usually, approaching tributes for an alliance is done during or after our three days training in front of the Gamemakers, those from the Capitol in charge of the running of that year's Hunger Games. It's not really what I want to ask her, but I can afford a little patience. Besides, I already have some ideas of what Clove is capable of, and I am sure there's more under the surface.

Clove's brown eyes scan me impassively, and she smirks. "Of course I do. We're each other's best chances of survival, I'd say, after seeing who we're going in with." Again, she surprises me with her self-assurity.

"Right," I say, stumbling for words.

"Well if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. I'd suggest you do the same, unless you want to be groggy for your first real time in front of the cameras," Clove says, knocking my arm back. I back away, and she shuts the door behind her. Rude.

"Well goodnight, I guess," I mumble to myself, before making my way to my own compartment.

My sleeping quarters are larger than I'd have expected on a train, a king sized en suite. There are some pyjamas carefully folded on my bed, and a change of clothes for tomorrow hanging inside a wardrobe. Throwing my shirt and pants carelessly on the floor, I'm out almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

**A/N: Well, first of all, thanks for reading if you made it this far. I know that this chapter really slows down and seems like a bit of filler content, and I guess in a way it is. Luckily though, the next chapter should have a _lot_ more going on with more of the characters being introduced from Cato's PoV. Thanks for all the feedback so far, I'd love some more though, so feel free to review/critique if you have the time to spare! **


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